Dead Sector: Miami: The James' Strain

by Romero, Drake

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  DEAD SECTOR: MIAMI

  “THE JAMES’ STRAIN”

  By DRAKE ROMERO

  Horror Harvest Publishing 2016

  PART OF THE DEAD SECTOR SERIES

  DEAD SECTOR : MIAMI / DEAD SECTOR SERIES

  Copyright © 2016 by Horror Harvest Publishing.

  All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations em- bodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organiza- tions, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Book and Cover design by Anthony Walsh

  Chapter 1

  A Game to Remember

  This is not another one of those zombie stories. You know the kind. The zombies show up, and no one knows what they are. It is like the last 50 years of popular culture never happened. Everyone is confused on what is happening and even when they figure out the rules of the game, the big “Z” word is never used. Our heroes come up with other names to call them, but no one ever says “can you believe ‘Night of the Living Dead’ is actually here?” No, when the zombies came, we knew exactly what they were. And one of the earliest, and what was undoubtedly the most important, zombie attacks was televised on live TV. Everyone saw it and the talking heads ran with it like it was a joke-until it wasn’t. But I was there. I was at the game-the NBA Finals game-where it happened. This is my story.

  It was right after my first year at the University of Miami School of Law. I was interviewing with a prestigious Miami law firm, and the firm took me to a game to recruit me. I was there with two of the firm’s attorneys, a partner and an associate, and three other recruits. The partner is an old guy-Earl Remington. He was one of the founding members of the firm and is in his early sixties. He is a bit overweight, but always wears a nice suit. Think bright colors, this is south Florida after all. The associate is a young woman maybe two years out of law school. Her name is Anne Nguyen. She is pretty and wears thick rimmed glasses. I remember hoping she is single when I met her at the interview. Only one of the other recruits is from the “U”-a guy my age I don’t really know named Danny Fischer. The other two guys are from the Florida State University College of Law.

  Taking law school recruits to a Miami Heat game is an annual tradition at this firm, and everyone is thrilled that this time, it is a game in the NBA finals. The biggest story in basketball that year was, of course, Lebron James returning to Miami. No one thought that would ever happen again, and despite all the talk the prior couple of years to the contrary, the city was thrilled to welcome King LeBron back to the American Airlines Arena. And he had done what he said he would-got the Heat to the Finals.

  Now understand, I am not a huge basketball fan, but this story cannot be told without LeBron James. This all started with him.

  The game is maybe 20 minutes underway when it happens. A fan storms the court. He is a big guy, easily 300 pounds, but he moves with the quickness and agility of one of the players. He makes a beeline for LeBron and makes it to him before security can stop him. LeBron sees him at the last second and gets his hand up before the fan is on him. The two tumble and LeBron comes out on top. Security jumps in and restrains the guy. We are too far up to see the guy directly, but the Jumbotron is on LeBron when it starts. The camera does not pan away. The guy is thrashing crazily and it looks like he is trying to bite the three guys holding him. LeBron is walking away from the scuffle. It looks like he is mouthing “That guy bit me,” to one of his teammates. The crowd boos the interloper. Two more security guards come and the five of them get the guy handcuffed and they carry him out by his arms and legs. The boos turn to cheers.

  The camera focuses on LeBron and he has blood, just a touch, dripping from his left hand. He leaves the game and does not come back. The crowd is in fits and the Heat loses by 6. It was not the night I was expecting.

  Remington and Anne take the four of us out to drinks at a local bar.

  “Boys, I don’t know what to say. I cannot believe that happened and I would apologize, but I am not that crazy guy. Still, I know he ruined the night, and I think Remington Flagler owes you better. What do you say Anne, should we take them to game four in two days?” asks Remington.

  “I think that is a good idea, Mr. Remington,” says Anne.

  “Anne, call me Earl or even just Remington, but like I have told you before, drop the ‘Mister.’ What do you say?”

  He is looking at us, and there is not really a choice here. Remington Flagler is my choice to land out of law school. So I say yes. The others do the same.

  The next two days feature non-stop coverage about the “zombie attack.” No one really thinks that is what it was, but some sportswriter smarter than he realized started the joke and it stuck. LeBron and his bite became the butt of the late night writers and they get a lot of laughs. There was even one sketch of LeBron turning into a zombie. We all thought it was so funny at the time.

  Game four was even more anticipated than game three, but I am pretty sure that is because everyone just wants to see if LeBron could play with a bum hand. Our seats are a little better this time, and I can actually see LeBron when he takes the court. He has a smile on his face, but he looks sick-like he was sweating before the game even started. The smile feels forced, but it is not a surprise that he insists on playing that night-it was the Championships. He is off the entire game, and the Heat are down going into the final two minutes. I am able to sit next to Anne and we chat most of the night. We are talking about taking the Bar when it happened. I have not looked up from the conversation for a couple of minutes when what most consider the beginning of the zombie apocalypse occurs. LeBron James grabs the guy defending him and bites deeply into his neck.

  The crowd is, for the first time that evening, completely quiet. Everyone at once gasps in surprise. Then the guy LeBron bit breaks away. He kneels on the ground for just a second. Three or four large players hold a struggling LeBron. The bitten man rises, and then bites the person closest to him. Screams take hold of the arena. With terrifying speed the zombies from the court, those that were just playing a game for riches and fame, are grabbing fans from the floor seats and doing what zombies do… attacking. The transformation is so quick that nearly no one was actually eaten, as the zombies would lose all interest as soon as the turn occurred. One theory that I subscribe to is that the zombies goal, its true goal, is to spread-not to devour.

  The crowd begins to make its way for the doors, but there are too many of them. People begin trampling each other and the zombies spread like the “wave” at a sports event. The only reason I am here to tell you this story is that our seats were right next to an exit. Everyone appears frozen, staring at the wild fire of zombies that will reach us in seconds. A man is turned by the woman in front of him. He turns to the woman next to him, and takes a bite out of her arm. She grabs the pre-teenager she is with (presumably her child) and bites him across the face. This kid turns upward and bites an older man’s ankle. The older man grabs his wife by the hair and bites into the nape of neck. The wife turns upward and bites a man in a sports jersey and basketball shorts on his inner thigh. Blood accompanies each bite and
it is all happening almost instantaneously. And we are all watching and not running. I had joined them in this paralysis until it was almost too late. But then something in me wakes up. I take Anne by the hand.

  “All of you, we have to go, now,” I say. I am already headed for the exit. Remington and Danny follow us. I turned around long enough to see the two guys from Florida State grabbed by the “people” in the row behind them. I could only see one of their faces, and he looked at me pleadingly for help. Then he was gone and he was coming for us. I turn to run and we head into the hallway. It is already flooded with screaming people. Among them are the zombies that have made it out of the main arena. People fall and rise around us. We are quickly becoming outnumbered. A woman grabs Anne and I make the split second decision to grab this woman by the hair and throw her into the wall. Her head crashes hard, leaving a smudge of hair and blood. I am a big guy and have never hurt anyone before. I never see her face, and still don’t know if she was one of them or one of us.

  We get through the doors to the outside as the hallways become impossibly flooded with people and zombies alike. Several seconds more, and we would not have made it out… not as humans anyway.

  “My car,” says Remington. “It is just over this hill.” We dead sprint to it. Remington had sprung for the more expensive parking, yet another stroke of luck that saves our lives. Remington is breathing too heavy to talk, and he hands the keys to Anne. She gets in the driver’s seat and I take shotgun. Remington gets in the back heaving. Danny shuts the door as a small man lunges head first into the window. I look into his eyes and they are not human. They are not intelligent. They are the eyes of an animal, frightened and vicious, acting only on instinct.

  “Fucking gun it,” yells Danny. Anne does. The man is flung sideways off of the car and is up immediately running after us.

  “What … what the hell … what the hell was that?” asks Remington.

  “I don’t know Mr. Remington . . . Earl. I have no clue,” says Anne.

  “I do,” I say. “That was the start of the zombie apocalypse.”

  Chapter 2

  I Finally Made it to Brickell Avenue

  I am from the Midwest-Oklahoma to be exact. My parents, the only family I had, died in a car wreck when I was in college. Oklahoma had nothing for me and I knew I had to move away. I thought of Miami almost immediately. I wanted to live in a place as different from Oklahoma as possible-I think to get away from the ghosts’ of my parents. I also had many memories from vacationing in the Keys when I was a kid. Mom would always make us spend at least two or three days in Miami, she thought it would bring us some culture. Fitting I guess that in trying to get away from them, I picked a place that we shared.

  Before even the first day of law school, I knew I wanted to work at a law firm on Brickell Avenue. Brickell Avenue is home to many of the steel and glass skyscrapers that dot Miami’s downtown and financial districts. Many of these monsters have views of Biscayne Bay, and I often daydreamed of sitting in my office watching boats go by why writing some legal brief. I am an adamant sailor. I found out later that there is so much new construction, that many building’s views are just a sliver of water between the newest towers. I didn’t care though, I was committed.

  Remington Flagler’s office space being on the 20th floor of one of these towers was a major incentive for me to land a job there. Sure, it was good firm with a solid reputation, and it was big enough to be impressive (just over 100 lawyers), but not so big to be overwhelming. But that view, or the idea of the life it represented, that is what kept me motivated on those long nights studying.

  That night, Brickell Avenue saved us all.

  “Where am I going?” asks Anne.

  “The office,” says Remington. “I need my …my inhaler and I left it in my desk.”

  “That is a good idea. The elevator requires a code to get to our floor and the door to the stairs lock. Those “things” should not be able to get in,” says Anne.

  “Not me guys, when we stop, I gotta go,” says Danny.

  “‘Those ‘things’ are zombies and you would be crazy to go out in this,” I say.

  “No choice, I have got to get to my girlfriend. No way I am leaving her by herself.”

  “Have her come to us,” says Anne. “It has got to be safer than wherever she is. Ask her to bring food and water.”

  Danny thinks about and takes out his cell phone. The conversation sounds frantic.

  “She said she will be there in ten minutes. She was out, so she is close. She can’t bring anything though. Will you wait on her?” he says.

  “We are only going to beat her there by five minutes. As long as there are none of those things around, we can wait,” says Anne.

  “I need … I need my inhaler now,” says Remington.

  “Fine, you and I will go up and these two will wait. We can just give them the code,” says Anne.

  “Thank you,” says Danny. “Don’t any of you have people to keep safe?”

  “Not me,” I say.

  “Divorced,” says Anne.

  “My wife … died … last year.”

  We pull up right in front of the building. Anne does not attempt to find a parking space. We get out of the car and Anne tells us the code is 0456. She opens the door to the front with an electronic dongle and props it open. “Keep it open,” she says. “Any sign of trouble, just come up.” They disappear into the building, Remington wheezing.

  “Thanks for waiting with me,” says Danny.

  “No problem. I don’t think the zombies will make it here anytime soon. It is a ten-minute drive and there is a lot in between.”

  “You really think they are zombies? Like from the movies?”

  “Sure, what else could they be? I am not saying I know what makes them zombies, but if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck. You know what I mean?”

  “Yeah, but ‘zombies?’ If that is really what is happening, aren’t we fucked?”

  “Probably, but who …” An explosion rocks the night sky in the direction of the arena. “Shit, what was that?”

  “I don’t know. I gotta call Sarah again.” He does so and lets it ring for a long time. She does not answer. He keeps calling and ten minutes go by. We start to hear voices, screaming mainly, but other chatter as well.

  “We need to go inside. We can stand here and wait for her from behind this glass door. It is moving faster than I would have guessed,” I say. He does not protest and we go from holding the door to standing behind it. He keeps calling her and she keeps not answering. I can tell he is starting to panic.

  “I think I have got to go look for her,” he says. “She was at a bar just a couple of minutes away. I just need to get the car keys from Anne.” He does not wait on me. He heads toward the elevator and I yell, “I guess I will wait here then?”

  As I wait, more activity happens outside. The voices are getting closer and I hear sirens coming from all directions. I check the news on my phone, which reports there is some kind of terror attack in Miami and that people are panicking. Cars have been zooming by with alarming frequency and speed, swerving around Remington’s car as they go. I hear the elevator open and as I turn to see Danny, a large sound erupts from outside, shaking the glass. I turn to see the last second of a crash between a large SUV and Remington’s car. The SUV rolls and comes to a stop directly in the middle of the street. I am pulling a trashcan over to the front door to prop it open when the next car hits. It doesn’t roll but it was going fast enough that the entire front half crumples. Danny has reached the door by now and sees that his ride to find his girlfriend is gone. He curses and tries calling her again. I tell him stay inside in case the door shuts and I make my way to the wrecked cars. I can see the person in the SUV is dead as soon as I look into his car. The voices and screams are getting closer. I reach the second car to find three young women. The two in the front seat are dead. Their bodies are badly mangled. The women in the back is unconscious but appears to be breathin
g. I try to get her to answer me but she does not reply. I gently shake her to no avail. I turn to see if perhaps Danny can help me get her out of the car and he is frantically waiving and pointing. I look in the direction of his pointing. They are here. The zombies, hundreds of them, are flooding the street. They are maybe two blocks away and closing fast. I decide there is no time for Danny to help and I reach into the car to unbuckle the woman’s seat belt. It is stuck because, well, of course it is. I try to open it and look up. The zombies are only a couple hundred feet away. There is no time to get her out. I lock the door to the car and shut it. I can hear the zombies now. They see me and their screams increase. I run back into the building and the door is closed. Danny is just standing and staring. I yell for him to open the door. He does not. I pound on the door, yelling as I do. I turn around and what seems like twenty zombies are running straight at me. They are fast, like Olympic runner fast. They are going to close the fifty feet between me and them in seconds. I put my back against the door. I am screaming, despite trying to be brave. The zombies are ten feet away. This guy just killed me. A zombie apocalypse and I died not because of something I did, but because this guy can’t open a door. I fall backwards into the building. Danny opened the door and he closes it with maybe a second to spare.

  The zombies do not slow down for the door. One of them runs full speed into the thick glass and bounces back five feet. It lands on its back and is up almost immediately coming at the glass again. The other zombies are running full speed into the glass as well. They thud off of it one by one, and I flinch each time one hits. They only stop when there is a line of them pressed against the glass. None of them are trying the handle, they just pushed up against it. It holds somehow. At least for now.

  I get on my feet after watching this. I turn to Danny angry. “What the hell man? I could have died.”

  “I … I am sorry. I just panicked. I was trying to move to open the door but couldn’t. How am I supposed to get Sarah now?”